


Consolation

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [326]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 221B Consolation, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rare Pair, hospital fic, minor injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-19 08:09:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14232987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: consolation: noun: kän(t)-sə-ˈlā-shən: the act of consoling, comfortFrom mid 17th century (replacing earlier consolate): from Frenchconsoler, from Latinconsolari, from con-‘with’ + solari‘soothe’.





	1. A Moment of Truce

There was some consolation that it could have been worse, John thought as he stared down at his hands. He wondered how they could possibly be as still as they were, and yet, he knew, as Mycroft had reminded him not so long ago, his hand didn't shake when he was under stress, and he was definitely under -

"Dr. Watson." 

John closed his eyes, then opened them again, looking down to see two perfectly shined shoes and muttered to himself, "it just got worse."

"Dr. Watson."

"Mycroft. Not now. Please."

The elder Holmes dusted off the badly upholstered chair with a small brush he pulled from his pocket, replaced it, then dropped, as elegantly as one can drop, next to John and ran his fingers through obviously pre-ruffled hair, and spoke quietly, "I thought you could use some company. I've been here before..." Mycroft looked around and nodded to himself. "This exact seat, actually. Coffee's terrible, food's worse, but you know that, you were -"

"... an attending. I was an attending, and yeah, the coffee was even worse then. Food was a bit better, but then I never had time to eat -"

"Six times." Mycroft mumbled.

"Sorry?"

"Six times, I've sat in this waiting room and waited to find out if my brother was going to live to see the next morning. And I was always on my own. My parents - our parents, they asked me a long time ago not to tell them when he was in hospital. They don't know about the times he's been in rehab, or stabbed because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Before tonight, I've been the one who waits, and I just thought you could use some company. I know, I'm not your favourite person in the world, or in this room, even, but I always wished there was at least one other person who cared whether he lived or -"

"Don't."

"I spend most of my waking and not awake hours dealing in reality, John. If my brother doesn't make it through surgery, because - "

"He knocked me down," John whispered.

"He -"

"The arsehole, not your brother, the arsehole who had murdered an ex-girlfriend, in a insanely gruesome manner - I won't even tell you what our sitting room wall looked like for the last forty-eight hours, pulled a gun and your idiot brother knocked me down as the gun went off. He did everything right, we waited for Lestrade, it just went wrong, Mycroft, and he probably saved my life tonight." John finally raised his eyes to find Mycroft closely examining an invisble speck of dust that dared to land on his knee.

"I thought..."

"I know what you thought."

"When he was a child..." Mycroft began, then his voice trailed into silence. "He's going to make it, isn't he, John?"

"I know the surgeon, he's the best, well, in med school, he was almost as good as me. He was conscious, and talking - complaining as they loaded him into the ambulance. He's tough, Mycroft. Listen - if you have things to do, wars to start - whatever - I'll let you know when I know, there's no reason for both of us to lose sleep - shit. I'm sorry. You have every right to be here, you're his family. I'm just -"

"His partner."

John's eyes popped. "He -"

"He didn't have to tell me. I may seem cold and calculating at the best of times, or, most of the time. But, I know him. And I know people. Well, I know how people usually act in a given set of circumstances, within certain parameters. And I can tell - he is unusually attached to you, and you have managed not to -"

"Mycroft?"

"I was going to say, strangle or smother him with a pillow, but given our current given set of circumstances, I thought it might be in poor taste."

John snorted. "Mycroft, that has to be the funniest thing I've ever heard you say. You must be brilliant at state dinners."

"I am well known for my small talk."

John bit his lip, otherwise, he would have laughed in Mycroft's face.

"Dr. Watson? Mr. Holmes?"

"Yes?"

"He lost a lot of blood, but, he will be fine, he's in recovery, you won't be able to see him -"

Mycroft cleared his throat and the nurse narrowed her eyes at him.

"I know who you are, Mr. Holmes."

"Nurse -"

"Carson, Amy Carson."

"Nurse Carson, Amy -"

Nurse Carson crossed her arms and waited.

"You're new."

"Yes. And I know who you are, who he is," as she nodded at John, "and my patient, your brother, his partner, is out cold in recovery. He is stable. He will be fine, but will be cranky as hell tomorrow when he does wake up, and in pain because of his past addiction issues, he will not be allowed the 'good stuff,' so you and his partner probably won't want to be within a city block of him when he does wake up, and you both know that. So, I suggest you both go home, eat something that resembles real food, then get some sleep, because he will be a mean son of a bitch when he sees you next."

They both looked at her in silence. John made to open his mouth and she shushed him. "Yes, I have heard the stories, seen the scars and the videos. He will be fine. I promise. Now, go home. Please."

"Yes, ma'am!" John gave her his best salute, then picked up his jacket and headed for the exit.

"John."

"Mycroft."

"Would you like a ride back to Baker Street? Cabs aren't that easy to find this time of the morning, if you aren't my brother."

John finally laughed. "Yeah, ain't that the truth. I personally think he gives them big tips when I'm not looking, or calls ahead somehow -"

"Or maybe he's just -"

"Sherlock." John shivered as they walked out of the overly heated hospital and into the beginnings of the third major blizzard of the year.


	2. The Beehive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Myc go for a drink...

"Stop here," John commands.

"Why?" Mycroft rolls down the window and looks out. "We're in front of a pub." The last word is delivered with such distaste that John has now decided he will make his - what - well, basically brother-in-law, though he and Sherlock haven't even discussed the 'm' word as yet, play a few rounds of darts as well as have a pint at the bar.

"Still open for an hour, and I figure we both could use a drink."

"Dr. Watson. John. You -"

John looks down at his clothing, muddied and bloodied and shrugs. "They're used to me looking like this. They'll have more of a problem with me dragging in your posh arse, than they will with me looking like a bloody zombie. Anthea. Park the car and join us."

"Anthea -" Mycroft's voice warned her to do nothing of the sort.

"Perhaps another night, Dr. Watson."

"Very well, come back for us in an hour, then." John grabbed his coat and got out of the car, leaving Mycroft no option, but to follow him. He gave a deep sigh and glanced up at Anthea who gave him a quizzical look, but no way out.

"One hour."

"Sir."

Anthea grins, knowing very well that The Beehive had the newest bugging equipment installed just last week, so she doesn't have to actually go into the pub to be a fly on the proverbial wall. She parked the car, pulled out her thermos of tea and waited for the fun to begin.

"If you ever tell my brother -"

"What? That we stopped into the The Beehive for a pint or two and a match of darts?"

"Darts?"

"C'mon, Myc. It'll be fun."

"Fun." Mycroft snorted as they walked into the warm, cosy pub. He stopped as everyone looked up as they entered, and froze. 

"John." The bartender moved out from behind the bar and looked his friend over. "Shit. You look like absolute shite, my friend. I heard about Sherlock over the scanner, he's gonna be okay, yeah?" He spotted Mycroft and raised an eyebrow. "Who's the stif- no wait - this is the elder Holmes? Bloody hell. The bloody British Government in my establishment. Well, first one's on the house. I like your brother. He's one of the good ones. Not many like him. Doubles, I'm guessing."

"C'mon, Myc, loosen up. We're among friends here." John slapped him on the back and walked over to the bar and dropped into his seat. "Kitchen still open, Mike? Haven't eaten for days, it feels like, I could use one of your specials with extra chips."

Mike nodded at Mycroft and John shrugged. "Make it two. I'll eat it if he won't. I need the gents."

Mycroft glared at the bar stool, but was too exhausted to fuss about it, so carefully seated himself, and picked up the glass that appeared in front of him. At this point he didn't really care what he drank, but Mike muttered, "gave you a bit of my private stash, it's the good stuff. I save it for nights like this. Which, to be honest, happen far too frequently for my liking, though, I suppose, consolation is, he's been a bit less reckless since he's met your brother."

Mycroft nearly choked on the single malt, but managed to collect himself. "You are referring to Dr. Watson."

"Sure, he was a mess before he met Sherlock."

"You've known him a long time."

"Yeah, since Uni, then went through Med School together - he was my attending, and then, he shipped out to Afghanistan, and I started this place. I teach during the day - bright, young things. Hate 'em. When he got shot up, they called me. His family is worthless, kicked him out when he told them he was gay, Dad nearly killed him first. Sister stopped him, gave John money and put him on a train. He hasn't seen any of 'em since. You tell him I told you any of this -" He turned and watched as John joined a game of darts. "He stayed with me once he got through rehab. I put him to work here, so I could keep an eye on him, basically, I figured if he did his drinking here, I could help him upstairs when he was done, but he needed somethin' more, so when Sherlock was looking for someone to share Baker Street..."

A light went off in Mycroft's head. "You are that Mike," Mycroft sighed as he took another sip of his drink. 

Mike nodded with a grin. "Mike Stamford. Sir." He wiped his hand on his towel and offered it to Mycroft. Mycroft rarely shook hands with anyone, let alone an owner of a local, but then again, he rarely sat on a bar stool in said local, so he took the offered hand and gripped it tighter than he intended.

"Thank you, Mike."

Mike looked him over and nodded. "You don't say that very often, do you?"

"No. I don't."

"I gotta check on the fryer, be right back."

Mycroft turned and watched John take a turn with the darts. He drew in a breath, focused, then blew out his breath slowly as he let the dart fly, hitting dead center. He grinned as one of his competitors groaned, slapped him on the back, then weaved his way over to the bar, as Mike returned from the kitchen.

"Four pints, Mike."

"Beat you guys again, hmm?"

"Yeah, even on a bad night, can't touch him." He shook his head as he picked up the drinks and carried them back over to where John was telling the other two guys a story; a tall tale about Sherlock. Mycroft could hear John do his "Sherlock" voice; he wondered at the idea that someone knew his brother well enough to mimic him as perfectly as John could, eyeroll included. He finished his drink and carefully placed it on the bar.

"Same again?"

"Please." Mycroft glanced over at John again. He was staring back in his direction, yet wasn't seeing him, as far as Mycroft could tell, he wasn't seeing anything at the moment. He wondered, for the first time, what it must be like to live with what John saw every day, and each night when he was able to close his eyes in hopes of a dreamless rest. Mycroft watched as one of John's friends tapped him on the shoulder, and he froze, for the briefest of moments. John blinked at Mycroft then nodded at him, acknowledging what Mycroft could see, what Mycroft knew that no one else could guess at. He turned and took the darts back, then laughed as he took a sip of his pint and began to relate yet another story.

"One special, extra chips." Mike slid a plate in front of him and grinned as he saw the look of undisguised astonishment. 

"Fish and chips?"

"Best you've ever had."

"I've never -"

Mike snorted. "You were born in England."

"Of course."

"And you've never had fish and chips."

"Not once."

"You haven't lived, mate."

"Apparently not," Mycroft muttered, then sighed deeply as he put a bit of lightly battered and deeply fried fish into his mouth. "Bloody hell."

John slid into the seat next to him and watched the look of bliss settle into Mycroft's usually immobile features. "We come here every Friday."

"Sherlock eats this every Friday?" Mycroft asked when he had recovered enough to speak.

"How do you think he's gained seven pounds since he's known me?"

"I think it's more like ten?"

"Yeah, I know, but he contends it's only seven, and you know how he is -"

"Yes. All too well." Mycroft sat quietly for a moment, then murmured, "you know he will in all probability...."

"I'll keep him fed up, Myc. I promise. You know, no matter what, I'm not going anywhere, right?"

Mycroft nodded, then turned his focus to the pile of chips, wondering how he was going to explain this to his tailor.


	3. Admissions of Guilt

"What was he like as a kid?" John asked as he finally pushed his plate away and turned so he could lean against the bar.

Mycroft picked at the last bit of fish and sighed. "He was a pain in the arse."

John snorted, but waited for Mycroft to go on.

"I think my parents..." He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and slowly wiped his fingers off before he ran his hand though his hair again. "They choose to remember him as he was then. He was a lovely child, he didn't begin to speak until he was three, at first my parents were concerned, as I began at six months, but then, they realized he was just taking his time, he was listening, paying attention, learning signals, how people reacted to -"

"A given set of circumstances?" John smiled into his pint.

"Quite so. And when he did speak, it was in complete sentences, but he had a slight stammer. It wasn't terrible, just at certain times, when he was tired, or became frustrated."

"Still does sometimes." John searched Mycroft's face, and rolled his eyes as he saw it held something resembling regret. "You made fun of him."

Mycroft picked up his recently topped up glass and nodded. "I was ten, nearly eleven. He wanted to be around me all the time, asked me questions, wanted me to play games, teach him - you have a sibling - yes?"

John blinked and nodded at Mike to pull him a new pint. "Twin sister. Haven't seen her in -" He closed his eyes and did the math. "It's been nearly thirty years now. We were -"

"Inseparable?"

"Yeah. We fought all the time, because we were so alike, but she - she protected me from our da. Shit. Drove him absolutely nuts. She was always a little bigger, a little stronger, braver. After I left I wrote her letters, but I didn't mail 'em. I shoulda tried -"

"Is she the reason you have such infinite patience for Sherlock?"

John shrugged and focused on his pint for a few minutes before speaking again. "Could be. I left her -"

Mike shook his head at him as he cleared their plates. "You know you had no choice, mate. If you had stayed, he would've killed you, she made a choice, she could have left with you -"

"Mike -"

"Sorry. Not my place." Mike sighed and Mycroft knew it wasn't the first time the two of them had had this discussion. "I'm gonna go start cleaning up, I'll leave the light on for you, just -"

John drained his pint and placed it carefully on the bar. "Ta, but it's been a long day, and if I keep him hostage much longer, it might cause an international incident."

"Mycroft." Mike offered his hand once more. "You aren't quite what I expected - come by anytime, I always keep the good stuff stocked."

Mycroft managed a slight exhausted smile as he shook Mike's hand. "Might take you up on that, I know Anthea will be disappointed that I didn't play a round of darts - thank you -"

John's jaw dropped.

"Don't be rude, John. Let me know when he's awake and I'll try to sneak him some real food, yeah?" 

John closed his mouth and nodded at his friend as he slipped from his stool. "Might be a while -" He watched Mycroft carefully extricate himself from his seat, then try to rearrange everything into some semblance of order. "I'll stop by tomorrow, let you know - thanks, Mike."

"Anytime, John."

 

Mycroft looked up at the sky, then closed his eyes. "Another inch and a half - streets will be a disaster - people are idiots on a good day, add snow to the mix..."

"Absolute morons," John agreed, then cleared his throat after a moment. "You know he cares about you."

"It doesn't matter in the least." Mycroft dusted off his shoulders, and ruffled the snow from his hair, before opening the car door for John.

"I can walk - it's just a block to Baker Street."

"John. Get in the bloody car. I will just have Anthea follow you home, and how embarrassing would that be?"

"Myc -"

"Please. If Sherlock finds out I allowed you to walk home, and -"

John rolled his eyes, but slid into the seat and laughed as Mycroft closed the door. He wasn't sure why it was funny that Mycroft was bending over backwards to be civil to him, but it was. God, he needed to sleep. There was some consolation that he knew that Sherlock was safe, as safe as one can be in hospital. He knew that Mycroft had his people keeping an eye on his brother, he knew that nurse - what was her name - Amy something - probably wasn't even her name - Mycroft wouldn't have taken that from just anyone.

"MI-5. She's one of the best."

"How do you guys do that?"

Mycroft sighed as they pulled up in front of Baker Street. 

"Never mind. I'll let you know when he is ready for visitors. I'll be there first thing, she's right though, he's gonna be a bear tomorrow."

"Very well, John. Do get some rest."

"Night, Mycroft. Anthea."

"Dr. Watson."

Anthea glanced up to meet her boss's eyes as John went inside and closed the door behind him. "Not a word. To anyone."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Sir. Home?"

To her surprise he simply nodded and closed his eyes as he leaned back against the back of his seat, and finally took a deep breath for the first time since he had received John's text just, what, five hours earlier.

 

Sherlock's been hurt. We're at Bart's. He's in surgery. - JW

 

He had blinked at the message, pausing his rambling dictation to Anthea, who looked at him sharply.

"Sir?"

"It's -"

"Your brother."

He had nodded, then slowly pushed away from his desk and was about to stand up when Anthea's voice stopped him.

"Sir."

He glanced at her and gave her crisp nod. "Of course, you're correct. I would just annoy Dr. Watson -"

"Wait a bit, let's get this done, and I'll drive you over, you'll want to get -"

"Amy."

"Perfect. Now. Where were we?" 

Mycroft settled back into his seat, closed his eyes and tried to refocus on the issue at hand, though Anthea could do it without him, she could do most of his job without him, he thought with a slight grimace.

"Sir..."

"Hmmm?"

"You're home, Sir. Shall I pick you up -"

"Same time as always, Anthea." 

"Sir." She watched as he gathered himself for a moment before he collected his coat and umbrella, then slipped quietly from the car, closing the door quietly, and walk deliberately towards his front door. He let himself in, then turned and raised his hand in her general direction. She nodded at him and made sure he turned off the lights before driving off.

 

"John?"

"Yeah. It's me, Mrs. H."

"Sherlock?"

"He's fine, will be fine. I'll be heading back there when visiting hours start, nurse tossed Myc and me out -"

"You took him to The Beehive."

"I swear, are you sure you aren't related to them?"

"John, dear - you smell of fish and chips, and I know you only eat fish and chips if it's a Friday night, or if Sherlock - how did you manage to get him to step a foot in there?"

"He was exhausted and hungry, needed a good drink - and Mike - well..." He finally looked at himself in the mirror and shivered. Mrs. Hudson helped him to his chair, then strode purposefully into the kitchen.

"Tea, shower and bed, young man. Will do him no good if you don't get some rest."

"I know. I just - he shouldn't have -"

"John. You would have done the same for him, he knows that, and he wouldn't like it if you blamed yourself, you know that."

"Yeah, I -"

"Shhhh." After a few minutes, she brought him over a mug of tea and wrapped his hands around the warmth, then quietly left him to himself.


	4. The Morning After

It had been one of those cases.

Obvious from the start, if you asked Sherlock - if you could ask him, thought John, as he stepped out of the cab and tried not to slide on the icy patches on the walk leading to the double doors. Funny. I never realised how much I hate hospitals, everything about them. The colours, the smells, the sounds, all the beeping and then the odd silences, and the chaos, the excruciating stillnesses. He asked for Sherlock's room number and was asked to wait for a moment. The woman at the desk pressed a button, then picked up the phone and John suddenly felt as if he had been transported to one of those Peanuts movies where the adults couldn't speak, just make that odd 'wahwahwaaahwah' sound. He shook his head to clear his ears.

"It will be just a moment, Mr -"

"Dr. Watson."

"Yes, of course you are." She looked up brightly at him. Far too brightly for seven in the morning, it had taken him all of five minutes after showering and tumbling into bed to fall into a deep sleep, but of course, an hour later, he startled awake again, he didn't know if it was because of a nightmare, or because when he reached for Sherlock, and didn't find him in his usual place, he remembered why he wasn't there. He tried smiling brightly back at her, but his mouth didn't seem to work correctly. She patted his hand that he had placed on the counter, somewhat sympathetically; she was one of those who smiled condescendingly, and patted one's hand while nodding as if she understood. 

"Is there a problem?"

"No, dear, he slept through the night, one does, you know -"

"No, actually I don't know. Can't remember the last time -"

"I was going to say when one is shot. One does sleep after -"

"Yes, yes, of course. Apologies."

She pursed her lips at him, then raised a finger at him as her phone buzzed. "Yes. I can send him over? Very well." She hung up and looked up at him in that way that people who see things, think they know, and she nodded, almost like Sherlock did, but in a way that made his hand itch. "Room 312. Seems he is starting to come to a bit, they were just making him comfortable."

John jammed his hands into his pockets and nodded his thanks as he headed to the elevator. Damn, I really, truly loathe hospitals. He gave a brief thought to what Sherlock would see on his face the moment he walked into his room, when he found himself at Sherlock's bedside. "Hey."

Sherlock turned his head in John's direction and searched his face. "Get some sleep? I heard Nurse Ratchett made you and Myc leave -"

"She's -"

"I know, she's MI-5. She tried to deny it, but I couldn't help myself, decent nurse, actually let me sleep, didn't worry about fluffing my damn pillows. How are Mrs. H and Lestrade?"

"They are fine. Worried about you, of course."

"What?"

John pinched his nose, got up from his chair and moved to the window. "Nice view from here -"

"John."

"I took your brother to see Mike, after, last night - he came by here, to see how you were, and since we weren't allowed to camp out here and the cafeteria was closed by then-"

Sherlock closed his eyes as a ripple of pain shot through his shoulder. "Damn. You took him to The Beehive? He actually had a drink in a pub? In our pub? Did he break out in a rash?"

"Mike made us fish and chips. I was going to make him play a round of darts, but it was nearly closing time when we got out of here, and it was snowing -"

"Now I know you are taking the piss. My brother - the British Government sat on a bar stool and ate fish and chips."

John knew Sherlock would have crossed his arms at him if he could move both arms, but his snort of derision made his opinion more than abundantly clear. John turned away from the window and saw the pain etched into Sherlock's face. He walked back over to the bed and sat down, then laid his hand flat on the mattress next to Sherlock and waited for him to place his hand over his. 

"I'm sorry," Sherlock whispered, then looked down at their hands, and threaded his fingers between John's. 

"What?" John asked after he took a breath, then another, until he could find his voice again. "You're sorry?"

"I nearly got you killed again, I didn't act quickly enough, if we had, if I had just - usually the simplest solution is the correct one. I know that, but - it was -"

"...too easy?" John finished for him, then carefully raised their joined hands to his mouth, and kissed Sherlock's knuckles, smiling gently as he heard Sherlock's sharp inhale of breath. "That's always been our problem, from the start, you know."

"What has?" Sherlock mumbled as he watched John under his dark eyelashes.

"You and I - we have a tendency to overthink things a bit, make things harder than they should be. Do you remember - the first time I kissed you?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at him, but nodded. 

"You were surprised, but not so surprised that you didn't kiss me right back. I think that did surprise you - surprised me, I thought you were going to scarper. I was afraid you'd disappear into the sewers or to one of your boltholes, but you stayed, and -"

"And then I, I wanted to see - I wanted to see you, John. Scared me, because there was never anyone I'd ever wanted, no, needed to see - I needed to touch you, but I was afraid you wouldn't want me like that... " His voice faded as he fell asleep, their fingers still entwined.

John shook his head, and kissed Sherlock's hand once more before gently placing it back on top of the blanket. "Always, Sherlock, from the very beginning. From the moment I met you, love." He pulled out the morning paper from his pocket, then searched fruitlessly for a pen, so he could do the puzzle. "Damn. There's always something..." He sighed and read the sporting page, then folded it back together, tossed it on the bedside table, closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.


	5. A Bit of Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and yet another alternative meeting...

Mike looked up from working on his bills when he heard a tap on his door. He was going to wave whomever it was off, as he hadn't had much sleep, and - Mycroft. What the -

"Mr. Holmes? I don't open for an hour, yet, but, please, come on in."

"Thank you, hmm -"

"Just call me Mike, everyone does."

"Mike. Yes. Quite." Mycroft walked into the pub and looked around. "It's quite bright in the daylight, isn't it? Quite different at night, the space I mean." Mike watched him wander for a bit, as he examined the pub's 'rogue gallery' including quite a few snaps that included Sherlock and John, together. "He doesn't - didn't..."

"Took a long time before he was comfortable having his picture taken. Trick was to do it when he wasn't paying attention. It's no good to try to get him to pose -"

"He's happy here."

"Yeah. He came in here the first time for a case, let's see..." Mike closed his eyes and thought for a moment. "I want to say four years, now? You remember that odd string of pub robberies?" Mycroft nodded. "Well, he came in here because he thought this place was next. Probably suspected me at first -" Mike said with a grin. "Anyway, when the case was finished, he'd come in and sit, and I'd make him a sandwich or just chips. Never asked, but I can tell when someone needs things they don't know how to ask for. I'd put something in front of him, he'd ignore it for a while, then pick at it while he sat there on his phone til it was gone, then he'd nod at me, leave way more than it was worth, then leave without a word. Took a month, he'd come in two or three nights a week, then it was nearly every night, before he started talking, and then, well, you know..."

"Once he starts, it's nearly impossible to shut him up. He's been coming here that long?" Mycroft wondered aloud, as he continued to peruse the walls. He honestly couldn't recall the last time he had seen Sherlock smile like he meant it, it was probably when Mycroft came home from school on holiday that last time... no, it was the year before, when he was still happy to see him.

"He was a right mess, then, but you knew that." Mike went behind the bar and put his paperwork away, then began to wipe the bar down, while he waited for Mycroft to decide if he wanted to trust him enough to ask the questions he needed answers for. Eventually he heard Mycroft sigh, tap his umbrella once on the floor then turn and stride purposefully over to the same stool he had occupied just a few hours earlier and sat down. Mike grinned as he'd never seen anyone sit on a bar stool elegantly before, but somehow Mycroft managed it. "I can put some coffee on, if you want, it's a bit early in the day for the good stuff, unless you need a bit of courage?"

Mycroft shook his head. "I don't really know him."

Mike nodded as he moved on to polishing the taps. "No, I don't suppose you do. It took quite some time for the two of them to figure it out. John, of course, was feeling sorry for himself, and angry, understandably so - and Sherlock, well, he took one look at John and I knew, he knew too, but -"

"People aren't really his area."

"Not then, no."

 

"Yer in my seat, I think."

Sherlock turned and looked for the owner of the voice that startled him out of his silent deduction of the two young women who were staring at his reflection in the mirror that hung behind the bar. "Sor - your seat. Didn't know there was assigned seating." He raised an eyebrow at the fierce, dark blue eyes that glared at him. Indigo, but with gold - he cleared his throat and began. "Afghanistan. Fusiliers. Invalided out. Left shoulder. Limp psychosomatic. Doctor. No. Damn. Surgeon. Sorry. Can't practice, tremors. Sibling...sister... you were close, but you haven't seen her in decades, not just a sibling. Twin."

Mike snorted, as he pulled a pint for Sherlock and slid it to him. "He's got yer number, John. John, this is Sherlock." 

"Well, Sherlock, is it? Yer still in my seat, and I'd like ya to move yer arse, lovely as it is."

Sherlock gave him a crisp nod, picked up his pint and moved to the other end of the bar.

"Shit. That was rude." John rubbed his face and yawned. 

"A bit, yeah." Mike placed a pint in front of him and shrugged. "At least if you two ever go out, he already knows -"

"Ta." John picked up his pint and drained half of it. "Out of my league, don't ya think?"

"You two have more in common than you think."

John carefully replaced his half finished pint on the napkin and glared at his left hand that went into spasm. "What, he's a gay former military surgeon who can't practice with a side order of trust issues?"

"No, he's a brilliant, lonely guy who hasn't figured out how to fit in the world, you arsehole, now get over there and apologise."

John blinked at him, then looked over at Sherlock who was tapping away on his phone, when he suddenly stopped and returned his gaze. "Bloody hell."

"Yeah, and he's not bad looking either, if that's any consolation. He doesn't really warm up to people quickly, so try to be nice."

"I'm always nice." John growled as he picked up his pint, then looked at Mike's crossed arms and sighed as he put it down again. "All right, I'm going. I'm going." He slid from his chair and walked slowly in Sherlock's direction, pausing as the green eyes focused on him, giving him all sorts of signals to stop, but then he kept going.

"I'm John Watson, and I'm sorry that I was an arsehole."

"Most people are." Sherlock turned his attention to his phone once more.

"Sorry?"

"Most people are arseholes. Admitting it is the first step, or so I've heard. I will be sure not to encroach upon your territory again -" He left some notes on the bar and made to leave.

"Please. Don't go on my account. I - tell me, how you did that -"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at him. "Did what?"

"That - my life history, like you were reading a book, and a boring one at that."

Sherlock shook his head at him and met his eyes again. "No, John. You aren't boring, first interesting person I've met in a long time - however. I do have to go. If you happen to need a detective for any reason, here's my card." He pulled out a gold case and placed a simple white card on the bar. "I'm up all hours, don't eat much, play the violin badly whenever it suits me, and I'm currently making a fool of myself. Evening, Mike."

"Sherlock." Mike nodded at him and sighed as he watched Sherlock walk out the door.

"Is he always like that?" John asked quietly.

"Nope. Must like you. Took him a month to talk to me. Why the hell are you still standing there, you idiot. Go after him."

"Mike..."

"John."

John picked up the business card, and read it aloud. "Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective 221B Baker St. London NW1 6XE?" John stared at Mike for a moment and mumbled to himself, "he lives a block from here?"

Mike nodded. "But he knows London like no one I've ever met, could be days before he goes home, so get after him."

"I'm not -"

"John Hamish Watson. You invaded Afghanistan, damnit."

"Not on my own, and he -"

Mike glowered at him and John closed his mouth, grabbed his coat from the hook by the door, glaring once more at Mike, then dashed out the door.

 

Mycroft put down his mug and sat in silence. 

"I heard from John that Sherlock was conscious, he was awake for a few minutes earlier this morning, but has been sleeping since then. I'm sure if you wanted to visit -"

"No. John is with him. I'm not sure I'd be that welcome."

"Mycroft. From what I know of him, and what I'm learning about you, neither of you are stupid, or lack courage. Yeah, I've read up on you - your brother is not without his flaws, he is arrogant, and ignorant of most social niceties, can be a bit of an arse, but with time, and a lot of patience on both their parts, he figured out that he is so much more than his 'utility,' as he calls it. He knows how to love John, and he knows that John would die for him without a second, or even a first thought - they are - well, you've seen them together."

Mycroft rolled his eyes and cleared his throat. "Quite. They are quite - well-matched. I had my doubts about John. But, after their first case - I realised I didn't have to worry any longer. Until last night. If the bullet had - I don't think he knows how important he is to me, Mike. And I think it may be too late for -" He shrugged and got up from the stool and picked up his umbrella. "Thank you for the excellent coffee, I apologise for intruding on your time."

"Mycroft. It isn't too late until it's too late."

"I think it was too late decades ago."

Mike shook his head. "Don't give up on 'im, Mycroft, find him a case the two of you can work together, or take him, I dunno, anything but flowers, chocolate? He likes chocolate - give yerself a chance, Mycroft."

Mycroft bowed slightly. "I will consider your advice... just for curiosity's sake, the fish and chips..."

"Yeah?"

"Do you serve them every night, or -"

"Come by any night, Mycroft."

Mycroft blushed and nodded once more. "Thank you, once again. I have meetings, things to attend to..."

"Of course, I won't keep you. Have a good day, Mycroft."

"Yes, you, as well. Good day, Mike." He turned on his heel and with as much dignity as he could muster, made for the door without a backward glance.

"Damn Holmes brothers," Mike mumbled as he walked to the door and caught sight of Mycroft arguing with a woman, his keeper, probably, Mike thought to himself, before she opened the car door for him and waited for him to settle into the backseat. She turned and nodded in Mike's direction, a slight smile on her face, not quite forbidding. "Damn. He is way out of your league, Mike, forget about it." He flipped the lights on and walked back to the bar, picking up the paper he hadn't had time to read yet, seeing a small article about the shooting, on the bottom right hand corner, and a larger headline about some political thing that he hadn't a clue about. "Maybe it's time to start... Mycroft... what kind of people name their kid Mycroft?"


	6. "Bloody hell, what's Sherlock gonna think?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a mixed bag... and yes, there is a rare pair in play...

Sherlock opened his eyes and blinked against the small light that John was using to read by, and studied him for a moment before clearing his throat. He was older than the first time he had laid eyes on him, of course he was, the once blond hair was gradually going silver at the edges, and the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes had deepened, but the eyes themselves that looked up at him seemed younger somehow, and yet, he could see the worry and exhaustion in them, and he wished there was something he could say to ease the pain he saw there.

John rolled his eyes at him and gingerly put his hand into Sherlock's curls. "Hey, sleepyhead."

"What time is it?" Sherlock asked hoarsely, and tried to move, but John shook his head, laid his book aside and pressed a piece of ice between Sherlock's dry lips, then kissed his forehead lightly.

"Eleven."

"At night?"

"Hmm."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him and whispered, "you've been here all day?"

"I did pop out for a coffee and to stretch my legs a bit, when Mrs. H was here for a little while this afternoon, she brought our quilt for you, some books and a bag for me. I don't care what MI-5 says, I'm not leaving you tonight."

"She hates hospitals."

"Yes, but she loves you more than she hates hospitals."

Sherlock tried to laugh, but his shoulder reminded him why they were there, and it came out as a groan. "How bad is it?"

John sighed and took Sherlock's hand in both of his. "It will be a while before you'll play badly again. I saw the x-rays, the before and after - I think we'll avoid permanent nerve damage, but you'll know it's going to rain before anyone else, and you won't have to go through metal detectors any more, so there's a bit of consolation in that, I suppose."

"John."

"It took a long time to get to the bullet, it bounced around, and then they had to put your shoulder back together, they did a neat job of it, your surgeon usually works on high-priced athletes, your brother went all out - I knew him from med school, I couldn't have done it better than he did. It will take time, but you will be able to play again. Are you hungry?"

"Not really. Just thirsty." John adjusted the bed and held the cup for him as he sipped from the straw. "Thank you." He laid back against the pillow and closed his eyes. "It really fucking hurts."

"I know, I'm sorry -"

Sherlock's eyes flashed at him as tears slowly streamed down his face. "No. Don't you dare. This is not your fault, tell me you know it's not your fault, John."

"Sherlock -"

"I need to know, John, please?"

John nodded. "Do you remember the night we met?"

"As I recall, you were an arse."

"Yes, I was." He laid a gentle hand on Sherlock's jaw and turned his face slightly so he could look into Sherlock's red, exhausted eyes. "You left, and I sat there like an idiot until Mike made me run after you. I ran out the door, and there you were, standing in the rain, waiting for me. I'd never seen anyone look more beautiful than you did that night. You looked at me and bit your lip, and said -

"'I'm looking for someone to share the rent,'" Sherlock murmured as John wiped his tears away. "'As you may have surmised, my people skills are nearly non-existent, but I think I can promise you, you won't be bored.'"

"And then you invited me back to the flat, and Mrs H. made us tea, and we haven't been apart since. Of course I feel guilty for you getting hurt in my place, how could I not? I thought he had missed both of us, but then I put my hand on your chest and the blood - god, Sherlock, somehow you stayed awake, I don't even know how you did it - you just kept looking into my eyes, saying my name and you held onto my hand - it took two EMTs to pull us apart so they could work on you. I thought - I didn't know, if I'd ever, if you - you were complaining all the way here about them cutting up your bloody coat, all I could do was watch as they worked on you, and I couldn't hold you, I couldn't kiss you and tell you how much I love you -"

"I knew, John. I wasn't fast enough. I was tired and didn't see the gun as quickly as I should have. Can you come up here and hold me, at least the unbroken parts? Please? I hate sounding pitiful, but I just - I need you, John."

John nodded and gently arranged Sherlock so he wouldn't hurt him, then kicked off his shoes and carefully slid into bed next to him. He sighed as Sherlock laid his head on his shoulder and closed his eyes. "I need you too, Sherlock."

An hour later John hissed as he heard the nurse enter the room. "Dr. Watson."

"Don't - you'll have to arrest me to make me leave tonight."

"I was just going to say, I apologise for last night. I was just doing my job, and he did need to sleep, and you needed to know he was safe."

"I know. It's just it was the first night we had been apart in four years."

"You've been partners that long?" She asked as she checked Sherlock's vitals. 

"Depends what you mean by that. It took us a couple of years before - we were idiots for a long time. And then someone tried to blow us up."

"Yeah, I remember."

"And I stopped being an idiot."

"He's a very lucky guy."

John shook his head. "No. I'm the lucky one."

"You know it's going to take a lot of time for him to heal -"

"I've been there, done that."

"He's going to have days -"

"I know. I went through it alone, mostly, I didn't let anyone help me, except my buddy Mike, without him - let's just say we wouldn't be here now. Amy, if that's your real name, he won't be alone."

"Good, if he needs anything, just use the call button."

"Will do, thank you."

"She gone yet?" Sherlock muttered sleepily as the door closed.

"Yeah. Go back to sleep."

"Love you."

"Love you, too." John kissed Sherlock's curls and turned off the light.

 

Mike looked up as the door opened again. Not Mycroft. He smiled a greeting at a regular and pulled another pint. Ridiculous. Even if he were interested there would be no way it could work, and why would he be interested? I'm a bartender and part-time professor, nothing special - he's, he's gorgeous, and bespoke and -

"Mike Stamford." 

"Present. Yes, sorry? How can I help you?" It was the woman he had seen that morning arguing with Mycroft until he got into the car.

"Mr. Holmes had to go out of town, emergency meeting, that's all you need to know, but he asked me to let you know he would very much like to see you again when he comes back."

"No, he didn't." He had spent enough time with Sherlock to know when he was being manipulated.

"No. He didn't. Very good, Mr. Stamford. May I sit?"

"Of course, may I get you something to drink?"

"Whatever you have on tap would be fine."

Mike pulled her a pint and slid it to her.

She took a sip and sighed. "He doesn't have friends."

"I didn't think so."

"He has peers, his old-boy network, but he doesn't have anyone he can talk to. Not like he talked to you over the last twenty-four hours."

"You have my place bugged."

She shrugged. "He was well aware. There's also a camera - once we finally figured out where Sherlock and John spend most of their post-case time, it took us a remarkably long time, you are a man who knows how to keep his own counsel - he wouldn't have spoken as he did if he didn't trust you already. In his profession, he has to make snap judgments about people, it helped that John brought you here, John doesn't trust many people. But you know that -"

"Yeah, it's a busy night, can you get to your point - sorry, be right back - idiots." Mike went back in the back and broke up a fight, tossing both of the guys out, through the back door. "Every Thursday night, they do that. They're best friends, but get a couple of pints in them, and they - never mind, you don't want to know. Listen. I know his life is complicated enough without -"

Anthea took another sip of her pint and shook her head. "He needs you."

"Me." Mike rolled his eyes at her but waited.

"Yes."

"Why me?"

"You know people. You have excellent instincts, you know how to read difficult people - you arranged it so John and Sherlock met when they did. Didn't you?"

"If you have to ask... yeah, I did. John needed - he needed someone who could take him out of himself. Sherlock doesn't have an ounce of pity in him. He saw John, all of him, knew him for who he was, who he could be, and he fell in love the minute he laid eyes on him. Yeah, I know, it sounds ridiculous, but I've had this place for a few years, and you get to know things, how people are - on his own, John would never have taken the chance, so I had to give them a bit of a nudge, still took them a couple of years before they could admit it to each other, people haven't been kind to them, they had walls that had to come down, and I could only push so hard. I got the feeling - if you're asking if I'm interested in your boss - it's really none of your damn business, but yeah, I've spent the whole night watching the door, hoping it would be him. Stupid, really, I'm not nearly posh enough -"

"He doesn't need posh."

"What, you think he wants to come here on Friday nights, eat fish and chips, watch a match or two with the lads?"

"Not out of the realm of possiblity."

Mike snorted, and nodded at her empty pint. "Another?"

Anthea pushed her glass towards him, and grinned. "Why not?"

Mike pulled her another pint and placed it in front of her. "Why does it feel like I'm in negotiations?"

"I can tell he is fond of you." She watched as Mike's normally fair complexion turned scarlet. "I just don't want to see him hurt."

"Slow down. I haven't been in a relationship since uni, took me years to get over him. I'm happy on my own. Relatively happy. Yes, I admit - damn, why am I telling you this? The surveillance is off right now, yeah?"

"Course it is."

"Right - I'll pretend it is. Because you know if he sees or hears this -"

Anthea sighed and took her phone out of her bag. "Yeah - turn off the The Beehive bugs, camera too. You can turn them back on in an hour."

"Thank you."

Anthea nodded. "You're good for him."

"You can tell that in a day?"

"Yeah, I've been with him over ten years. I know him better than anyone, except for you."

"Just let him know I'll be here, anytime he wants to stop by. Now, can I get you something to eat?"

"Fish and chips?"

"Specialty of the house." Mike grinned and headed into the kitchen for a couple of minutes, then returned to the bar. "He's really out of town?"

"You know he'd be here if he weren't, don't you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. Bloody hell, what's Sherlock gonna think?"

"That you've lost your mind?"

"Yeah, I imagine that would be his first conclusion."

"How is he?"

"John said he's in a lot of pain, but the surgeon did a brilliant job piecing him back together. It's going to take months, if he's lucky. He has John - that will help. John had to do it mostly on his own, until he made it home, and then he only had me to yell at him."

"He owes you a lot."

Mike looked up at her and shook his head. "John Watson doesn't owe me a damn thing, Anthea. He's my friend, and he's always had my back, saved my arse more times than I can count. Be right back."

Anthea sipped at her pint for a moment, then got up, and walked over to wall of photos and saw the same images that Mycroft had examined earlier that day, and understood what Mike meant. She walked back to the bar and took her seat again as Mike returned with her fish and chips. "Careful, they are hot. Myc nearly burned himself - did you know he'd never had them before last night?"

"Yeah." Anthea picked up a chip and moaned as she took a bite. "They are brilliant, but don't know as much as they think they do. Damn, that's, just otherworldly..."

"Thank you. Take as long as you need, and it's on the house - listen, is there a way you can cut the surveillance when he's here - I know you know where he is at all hours, just -"

"I'll do my best, it's for your protection as well." Anthea sighed. "I'll do my best, I promise."

"Ta."

 

"Did I wake you?"

"Mycroft?" Mike rubbed his eyes and stared at his phone. "No - it's fine - where are you?"

"Somewhere over Germany. I'm sorry that Anthea disturbed you at work. It won't happen again."

"No, it's okay. When will you be back?"

"A few hours. I understand if my presence in your life would be too complicated."

"It isn't, it's not, won't be. I want you to know, I am interested. She probably told you, but I kept looking up every time the door opened tonight hoping it would be you. It's just - can we, to start, can we be friends and see what happens?"

On Mycroft's end there was silence for a moment, then he cleared his throat. "You really want to be friends. With me?"

"Yes, Mycroft Holmes. I'd like nothing more than to be your friend, and whatever else follows, I'm willing to wait as long as you need me to."

There was another silence, then Mycroft whispered, "I'd like that very much, Mike. I'll be on the ground at seven -"

"The coffee will be on, Myc."

"See you in a few hours then, Mike." Mike heard Mycroft stifle a giggle, and then he was gone.

"Damn. What have you gotten yourself into this time?" He turned off his phone and buried his face in his pillow, and waited for the sun to rise.


	7. Some Brotherly Wisdom

"Mycroft."

"John went to get coffee. He'll be back in a few minutes."

Sherlock ran his eyes over his brother's face, then rasped out, "you were out of town -"

"Don't."

"Don't what?" Sherlock whispered, but closed his mouth and waited.

"I've discovered a fondness for fish and chips."

"So I've heard."

"I wanted to stop here first, to see how you were. I'm not going to hurt him."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at his brother and bit his lip. "He's a good guy, Mycroft."

"I know he is."

"He's kind. But he won't - don't lie to him. He won't give you a second chance. I know it's second nature... damn - sorry."

"Can I do anything?"

"No. It doesn't really matter what I think, you know? If you like him, that's great, Myc, you are both adults to a certain extent - just treat him well, I know you don't have any experience with this kind of stuff. I'm no expert, as John would tell you, just don't rush things, or do, I dunno, it took us far too long, had to nearly get him blown up before we stopped being afraid of losing what we had - fuck - it hurts worse today, didn't think it was possible -"

Mycroft instinctively reached his hand out for him, then tried to withdraw, but Sherlock held on tightly. "I'm sorry, Sherlock."

Sherlock blinked back the tears and asked quietly, "what for?"

"For not being kinder to you, I didn't know how - I was used to being on my own, and then you - you showed up and wanted so much from me, and I failed you, so many times to the point where you started not to ask me - even when you needed me -"

"It's not your fault, Myc."

"Of course it is. I should have made allowances, I should have tried harder. I could have, I don't know - something -"

"Myc. I forgive you."

Mycroft looked down at Sherlock's hand wrapped around his, and remembered when Sherlock used to run after him, and grab his hand, wanting him to notice him just for a minute or two. "It can't be that simple."

"Yeah, it can, Myc. I'm tired of fighting with you. I just hope you can forgive me for all the times - we're so different Myc, and yet, we're very much the same; we've never been good at knowing what we need, let alone how to ask for it. Just be honest with him, remember he's known me a long time, he knows all the Holmes tricks - you won't be able to get away with anything, just be yourself."

"What if I don't know who that is?"

"He already knows, and for some reason, he still likes you, so don't blow it. Now, go and see him - take him a couple of cinnamon rolls from the bakery across the street - and he will love you forever."

"You do like to exaggerate -"

"You'll never know until you try."

John walked into the room and tried to hide his astonishment. "What's going on - did I walk into a parallel universe or are you two actually smiling at each other? Maybe I should walk out and try again -"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at John, and squeezed Mycroft's hand before letting go. "Just giving him a bit of advice so he doesn't - cinnamon rolls."

"Right. Cinnamon rolls. Have John call me, if you need anything, hmm?"

"Go."

"Going."

 

As they pulled up in front of the bakery, Mycroft cleared his throat and Anthea looked up at him. "I'll call you when I'm ready to picked up?"

"Surveillance is already turned off."

Mycroft raised a curious eyebrow at her, then shrugged. "Thank you."

"Sir."

He slipped from the car and walked uncertainly into the bakery. The girl at the counter looked up and smiled at him. "How may I help you, Sir?"

"I understand that Mike from The Beehive is a bit fond of your cinnamon rolls."

"You're a friend of Mike's? He's a sweetheart, and yes, he does have a bit of a sweet tooth - one or two?"

Mycroft saw the tray of rolls and sighed. "Better make it four." She laughed, and put four in a white box and tied it with a bright purple ribbon, then accepted the notes he gave her. "Please keep the change."

"Thank you, Sir. Have a lovely day."

He bowed in her direction; she answered with a bob of a curtsey, and he couldn't help but smile. "You too, my dear." 

 

Mike was focused on trying to decipher the newest political mess on the front page when Mycroft tapped on his door, and suddenly he felt like a teenager. Ridiculous, just friends - just - and then he spotted the white box with the purple ribbon and yanked the door open.

"Mycroft."

"Mike. I bring an offering."

"Sherlock." Mike whispered in astonishment as he carried the box to the bar and got out two plates.

"He may have given me the idea."

"Don't tell me we have his blessing?" Mike grinned up at him.

"There is some consolation in that it will be some time before he can - never mind -" Mycroft eased onto the stool and looked at the cinnamon roll that was placed in front of him. "I didn't realise how big they were -"

"Take your time. I'm not going anywhere. Except to get us some coffee." He went back into the kitchen and returned with two steaming mugs. "Milk - right?"

Mycroft nodded and felt his face heat up suddenly. "Correct. Look. I, I heard you this morning. I did. It's just, when I was sitting with Sherlock, and I understood how close - it wouldn't have been just a loss for me if Sherlock had died last night. I finally realised how much he means to John and to you - and I don't want to - I don't want to wait."

Mike put down the mugs and looked into Mycroft's eyes - he blinked as he watched them turn from a soft grey-blue to some other colour, damned if he knew what it was - and he found his hands reaching into the copper hair and heard a sigh. He wasn't sure where it came from but he didn't really care, and then he was kissing, or being kissed, and again it didn't matter in the least who was doing what -"Damn."

"Sorry?" Mycroft whispered, then pulled away as if he were burned.

"Please tell me you aren't apologising?"

"I'm - no - I meant it, mean it - I've never - was it any good?"

Mike laughed, then drew Mycroft into another kiss, light brushes of lips suddenly turned needy and impatient and he had to stop in order to catch his breath. "I - are you okay? I should be honest, you're all I've been able to think about since the moment you walked in here. I don't - do this. I've seen it happen to other people - so I know it happens, but I just -"

"Didn't believe it would happen to you?" Mycroft grinned at him and then bit his lip. "Don't sell yourself short, Mike."

"Oh, it's going to be short jokes, now, is it?"

Mycroft tore off a piece of cinnamon roll and pushed it into Mike's mouth, and watched his face change into something close to bliss. Then he licked his fingers, sighing contentedly as he closed his eyes. "You know, this could get -"

"Complicated?" Mike sighed as he watched Mycroft pick up his mug and take a sip of coffee then put his mug down again.

"I was thinking of the word 'intense', but yes, my life is, always has been defined by what I am - not by the person I choose to love - I'm not afraid of what our relationship would mean. Of course, it could get messy, but I don't care what other people think, never have really, until yesterday. I wanted you to like me more than I have ever wanted anything before. And yes, it's a bit like an earthquake, to be honest, but I find I just want more of that - I want to be shaken." He looked shyly into Mike's eyes and closed his mouth, wondering if he'd already ruined everything before they had really started. "If I -"

"Stop talking. Just - let's just eat the rolls and have our coffee, and then you have work to do - and I have to order things - food things, drink things, and sweep and pay bills, then after work, and after you visit your brother, you can come here and gaze fondly at me while I pull pints for idiots, and maybe when I close up, you just might be invited to come upstairs with me to my tiny flat, and we'll see what happens next. Because if you don't stop talking in that ridiculously sexy, posh voice soon, I will take you upstairs now, and I don't think we are quite ready for that step yet, and besides, I need to tidy my flat - it's been a long time since... let's just say it's been a long time." He took a deep breath and let his eyes fall shut, then let the breath out slowly, and hoped Mycroft was still sitting there when he opened his eyes again.

He was.


	8. "You can imagine the Christmas Dinners..."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a little more than a year later... not quite what I thought this chapter would be, but it is what it is, LOL. :)

John ruffled Sherlock's curls and rolled his eyes upwards; Sherlock's glance followed and he sighed. "Really, John - they are already too sweet already, must we encourage such - oh. Right." He smiled down at John and wrapped both arms around him, before kissing him soundly, leaving them both a bit breathless. 

"It is Christmas. I think we can allow for some sweetness, and Mycroft is finally returning today, how long has he been gone?"

"If you ask Mike, it's been half a year, really it's only been a fortnight. And yes, before you ask, I know how it would feel if we were parted that long, it would feel like a year."

"You are a ridiculous man."

Sherlock smirked and kissed him lightly once more, then whispered, "your ridiculous man."

"Don't you forget it - ah, there's Mike - go open the door while I check on things..."

Sherlock could hear Mike exchange holiday greetings with Mrs. Hudson, and then his slow, exhausted steps up to the flat. It had been a long two weeks, Mycroft had been trying to put out fires in Asia, and the time difference had made sleeping nearly impossible for Mike. He was a mess, not to put too fine a point on it. He opened the door and shook his head. "Mike -"

"Sherlock. Wow, great tree, and I could smell the gingerbread all the way down at the pub, John asked me to bring a good bottle of rum for the eggnog -"

"Mycroft called, he'll be a couple of hours, yet, you have plenty of time for a kip, dinner's not quite ready. Don't say no, you haven't slept well since he's been away." Sherlock took the bottle of rum from Mike's hand, placing it on the coffee table, then tucked the old throw around Mike as he more or less collapsed onto the couch.

"You will wake me when he gets here?" Mike whispered as he closed his eyes.

"Of course." Sherlock sat on the edge of the coffee table and watched as his friend fell asleep, and reflected that it had been a little over a year since his brother had fallen in love. He considered the man on the couch for a moment, then rolled his left shoulder a bit, as John had said, he always knew when the weather was going to change before anyone else did, but it was a small price to pay - he knew his brother never would have met Mike if he hadn't nearly died, not that he could ever say that out loud to anyone.

"Hey." John whispered at his ear. "Oh, good, he remembered the rum, wasn't sure he would. You okay?"

"Yeah, fine." John nodded and kissed that spot behind his ear, then returned to the kitchen.

Last Christmas had been so very different, Sherlock mused, as he closed his eyes and thought back.

 

"Hey. Sorry, didn't mean to wake you." Mike sat down in the chair next to Sherlock's bed, and opened the paper bag he had brought with him. "I didn't bring you fish, it would stink up the place, but John said I could bring over some chips for you, being Christmas and all."

Sherlock blinked at him. "Already Christmas? Damn. I lost track of time. I was going to get John a real present this year. I always forget, and run out last minute and get him something stupid -"

"Just having you here is Christmas enough for him. Now, eat these before they get cold, yeah?" He pulled out the container of chips and placed them on the table in front of Sherlock. Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath in.

"Mike..." He startled them both when tears started rolling down his face. Mike got to his feet and pushed the table away and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Hey, talk to me, mate."

"Tell me something good. I just need - John's always chipper, positive that I'll be able to - that things will be normal again, but when I'm awake, everything just hurts, and I know he is trying - but I don't know if I'll ever be the same as I was before."

"You won't be the same, Sherlock. No, I know what you mean, but even if your shoulder heals up the way it should and it works just as it did before, you aren't going to be the same, and I think you are afraid what that will mean to John. You think he expects you to be who were before. You met John after he was shot, after he nearly died. I knew him before. He wasn't the same person when he came back, Sherlock. Some of it was the war, what he saw there, but there's something about nearly dying violently and then surviving, that does something to a person. You need to talk to him, tell him what you're afraid of. Hmmm. Good news. Not sure if you'll think it's good news or not, but -"

"Mycroft."

"Yeah." Mike reached over and picked up a chip and offered it to Sherlock, who took it in his fingers and closed his eyes again before putting it in his mouth and chewing happily. "He - well, we - hell. He makes me happy, Sherlock. I didn't think - "

"He's being good to you?"

"We have coffee and rolls in the morning, before he goes to work; when he's in town, he comes in after work - yeah, he's usually tapping away on that blasted phone, but he's there - and -" Mike blushed and looked away before offering Sherlock another chip.

"Say no more." Sherlock grumbled then examined the chip in his hand. "God, I'm so sick of jello. Doesn't matter what colour it is - all tastes the same. As long as he makes you happy, Mike; if it does go bad, I know people." He shoved the chip in his mouth as Mike laughed then moved the table back in front of Sherlock so he could reach the chips, and sat next to him. "You think I should talk to John."

"Yeah, I do, mate, of all people, he would understand, you know that. He loves you, for you, whatever that happens to be, and I know you've never understood that, Myc has the same issue - he looks at me like he expects me to vanish, that I'll walk away. It's only been a week, Sherlock - but I know." He looked down at his hands and shrugged. "I just know." 

 

Sherlock flinched as John put a cup of eggnog into his hands. "It's just me, love."

"Sorry."

"Come into the kitchen for a minute?"

"Yeah. Sure." Sherlock got up from the table and followed John to the kitchen. It smelled of Christmas, there was a ham in the oven, the biscuits and tarts had been baked. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then took a sip of the eggnog. "Damn."

"Good?"

"Yeah - John?"

"There was something you wanted to tell me, last year, after - you know - you never did."

"I - you remember when Mike brought me chips over Christmas?"

"Sure, I was - I don't even know what I was doing -"

"Watching some silly Christmas movie with Mrs. H in the waiting room, I had thrown you two out of my room, and then Mike - oh."

"You needed to talk to someone, and I was trying to keep up the stiff upper lip, I wanted to stay positive for you, so you wouldn't give up - and I, I don't know, I wasn't ready to hear what you needed to say, I guess. I should've been able to do that for you, I should have been able to listen, and let you - I don't know. Mike never told me what you said, but you seemed a bit better after -"

"I was just afraid you wouldn't love me as I was - I felt different, it wasn't just being in pain - I had no control over things, I couldn't move, or hold you, I was angry. Not at you, never at you, but, I was afraid you would take it that way. When I told Mike - it helped, he was able to help me see that you would still love me, even if I seemed different than I had been before -"

"Yeah. I thought it might've been something like that. I'm sorry -"

"Don't be. I needed to work it out - when you came back in the room later, I saw he was right, I just - I just knew." Sherlock put the eggnog down, and turned to face John. "I know I'm different than I was before, but I think it's - it made me, I don't know, a bit softer, kinder - I had to learn how to let people help me, you and Mike, Mrs. H, and even Mycroft, I couldn't do anything on my own for such a long time, and I had to choose to be okay with it. And I understand you better now, your silences, the times you go away in your head, I know, John - it shouldn't have taken me getting - hurt, but it did. And I don't suggest getting - hurt to anyone, but - I know that my brother wouldn't have Mike now, if -" He stopped talking as John's hands were in his hair and he pulled him down into a frantic kiss, and didn't draw back until he ran out of air.

"Sorry." John whispered as Sherlock pulled him closer once more. "I - just - I'm sorry, Sherlock. I don't touch you as much as I want to - I'm afraid you'll think that I'm -"

"You can touch me as much as you want, John. As much as you want." He kissed John's forehead lightly and held him in his arms. "Do you know how often I dreamed of holding you when I couldn't? All I wanted to do was wrap both arms around you and not let you go - it took so long - and you were afraid of hurting me, so you would lie in bed until I fell asleep and then get up and sleep on the couch - and then come back to bed before I woke up, so I'd think you were there the whole night."

"You knew -"

"Of course I did. You weren't sleeping well, and the couch was dented into your shape for a while - and sometimes I'd wake up from a nightmare and you would be walking into the room, you'd tell me you were just getting a glass of water..."

"Damn. Why didn't you say something?"

"John. It must have brought back so many memories for you, I was lucky, no, I was - to have you, and Mike and Mrs. H - Mycroft - I had all of you to help me heal, even if there were days I just wanted to be left alone - I can't imagine what it must have been like for you, to have to go through that on your own. You were so patient with me, especially on those days when I didn't want to do the PT because it hurt so damn much - you got me through it - and the first time I got to hold you, really hold you, I fell in love with you all over again. Did you know that?"

John nodded and laid his head on Sherlock's shoulder, "I did. I knew." John lifted his head and blinked away the tears that were cascading down his cheeks. "We still have time for a shower before Mycroft gets here - please - I just need to -"

"Yes, of course, yes, John."

 

Mycroft's feet slowly made their way up the stairs to the flat. All he wanted was to sleep - but Mike wasn't at home, and he hadn't been able to sleep without Mike since that first time they fell into bed together - he chuckled to himself as he thought of the tiny flat - with the enormous bed, he could see it so clearly in his head, as he woke up the next morning spooned around Mike, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He pushed open the door to the flat, and carefully put his bags down - he hadn't even gone home yet - he had got off the plane, basically fell into the waiting car and didn't have to tell Anthea where to take him. Sherlock had told him that Mike would be at Baker Street earlier that day, and wherever Mike was, that was where he needed to be - ridiculous.

It was utterly ridiculous, but he realised within a week of being with Mike that it didn't matter in the least, and now over a year later, he couldn't imagine how he had ever functioned without him.

He walked over to the couch and knelt down. He watched Mike sleep for a few minutes, then leaned over and kissed his forehead.

"Myc?"

"Yeah, it's me."

Mike opened his eyes and blinked at him. "'Tis you. Start any wars?"

"Not this time. Though it was tempting... you haven't been sleeping."

"Couldn't sleep til I talked to you - and then - my time was all messed up - can't sleep without you anyway." Mike sat up and rubbed his eyes, then gently held Mycroft's face in his hands as he always did. It still stunned Mycroft that Mike touched him the way he did, as if he were precious, there was never anything rough about how he loved him, he was always kind and careful with him. "I missed you." He whispered against Mycroft's lips before he kissed him sweetly. 

Mycroft closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Mike's. "I missed you, too. So very much. Next time, I'm taking you with me." 

"Promise?"

Mycroft nodded, then looked around the flat. "Where are they?"

"Dunno - come up here. You're all done in, love." Mike scootched down to the end of the couch and patted his lap. "Come on, love, they won't mind if you rest." Mycroft stepped out of his shoes and tossed his jacket on the back on John's chair, then walked back over to the couch and stretched out, resting his head in Mike's lap and finally taking a real breath for the first time in two weeks. 

"How is it possible..." Mycroft sighed as he felt Mike's fingers in his hair, he had let his curls grow out, as Mike had declared a fondness for them, early on, and now, on those nights when his brain wouldn't stop working, all it took was Mike's fingers to shut everything out.

"Hmm?"

"That it took so long to find you."

Mike sighed and kissed his cheek. "No more thinking, just close your eyes and rest, love."

"Bossy." Mycroft snorted.

"Yup."

"I love you."

"Love you, too, now, go to sleep, yeah?"

 

When Sherlock and John finished dressing a few minutes later, they quietly crept into the front room and couldn't help but whisper, "awwww." Mycroft was snoring lightly, his hands wrapped around Mike's right hand, while Mike's left hand was tangled in Mycroft's curls, and his head rested on the back of the couch, at an odd angle. "We should wake them up -" John muttered under his breath, but Sherlock shook his head, and went back to their room to grab their quilt, then carefully covered them up. 

"It's Christmas, we should let them be for a while. Mrs. H said she was going to watch some dreadful Christmas movie - why don't we leave them a note and go downstairs."

John nodded and scribbled out a note, and laid it on the coffee table, then followed Sherlock down to Mrs. Hudson's flat.

 

M & M - Take as much time as you want - welcome home, Myc, you were missed. - J & S.


End file.
